So. Yes. Right.
Where to begin? Where indeed to begin on a day that had several inauspicous harbingers (mmm, big words!)?
Where to start with the telling, and the whinging, and the poor-me-ing?
Perhaps, at the beginning, so that in the telling I can try to remind myself to avoid the following things which have occurred in my world today (and in which you are all, no doubt, raptly interested and upon learning of which you will commiserate appropriately):
• Waking up and feeling the "sproing" of some small lower back muscle that heretofore I had no knowledge of possessing sending up a little notice that maybe I need to do more ab work to counteract this whole freaking aging thing I got going on. Those damned "sproings" are going to be the death of me, Isweartogawd.
• The chicken package I threw out 2 days ago doing it's stinky thang in the garbage can under the sink, which rank-gassed me full force when I opened the cabinet to throw out the old coffee filter this early morn. Dear gentle reader, the hacking and gagging were all-encompassing; I even had to blow my nose to get rid of the smell, then mist generously with some orange smelly spray stuff that I found under the bathroom sink. After this came the mad shuffle-ow-dash (the back thing still in effect at this time) to the outside garbage can, during which I held my breath the ENTIRE way so as not to pollute my innards with redolent deceased poutry odor. I do NOT know how coroners do it, I truly do not.
• That remaining half a gallon of milk in the fridge? Not so good anymore. I am now greatly afeared of what the 3 gulps I swallowed before I figured that out are doing to my gastrointestinal system. And yes, I drank straight from the bottle. My family is not here to see the slothful slob into which I transform myself in their absence. For what it's worth, I'm letting the dogs lick out the cooking pots before washing them, and using the same bowl over and over again to avoid emptying the dishwasher.
• Speaking of dogs, they magicallly learned to open doors this morning (which I, in my haste to rid the house of the stinky chicken thang, left ever-so-slightly ajar in my Festus-like sideways shuffle), escaping with speed-of-light enthusiasm into the rainy morning to lark about the countryside with abandon and little to no concern over the half-crippled woman (again with the back thing) who, without benefit of proper clothing or eyeglasses, mustered herself into the car to chase after them, by which time they'd got a good 5 minute head start. As it happens, I found them in the tobacco field several hundred yards from my house, leading me to believe they're nicotine freaks and needed a chaw fix.
As a substitute for these things, and as a way to start my day afresh, I intend to say that the following things happened to and around me instead:
• Waking up to find that I, through some trick of immense good fortune, lost 20 pounds and had a boob job overnight, after which I spend half an hour ogling myself in the bathroom mirror and jumping up and down while naked. Don't say you wouldd't do the same thing. Unless of course you're a man, in which case you can substitute getting a nice expanse of Fernando pecs for your chestal area, or, you know, request additions to whatever body part about which you feel insecurity.
• The kitchen sparkling clean, with a surprise guest appearance by Tyler Florence, who knows I'm a little lonely and, in order to appease my emptyness, is scrambling some eggs and kneading biscuit dough while shirtless. As an added bonus, he has been hit with the pec stick, and also, apparently, the delt stick. And the glute stick. Thank you, muscle faerie!
• Mimosas in the fridge.
• No dogs. At all.
Now, I’m not one to say that people shouldn’t make every effort to live in the here and now, live out LOUD, live strong, be grounded in reality and all that, but come on, with this kind of malapportioned start I deserve a Mulligan, don’t you think?